Lovers In League Against Satan
by Ravenspear
Summary: In which Ravenspear posts her growing collection of Dean/Crowley comment!fics.
1. Monster In My Bed

**Title:** Monster In My Bed**  
Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Crowley  
**Warnings:** Spoilers for SPN 5x20  
**Word Count:** 698  
**Prompt:** "You're a bastard." "Doesn't stop you from wanting me, does it?"  
**Summary:** In which Dean is somewhat upset, and Crowley is a bastard.

* * *

"What?" Crowley asks as Dean drags him around the corner of the motel. "Not even bringing me back to your room? Dean, I'm _hurt_."

"Shut up," Dean replies as he shoves the demon up against the wall and steps in close before kissing him, hard.

Crowley makes a pleased noise in his throat, both happy and amused as he hooks fingers in Dean's belt loops, thumbs finding bare skin where his t-shirt is riding up.

Dean's response to that is to slap Crowley's hands away as he bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

The moan that slips free from the demon's mouth at that is damn near pornographic, and the bloody kiss that follows is almost sickeningly arousing. If Dean didn't already hate himself, this would certainly have done it.

Crowley tries to grab at Dean's hips again, and in response, Dean grabs his wrists and pins them to the wall on either side of Crowley's head.

"Are you trying to make a point here, sweetheart?" the demon asks when Dean pulls back, his eyebrow raised and lips curled into a smirk.

"You are such a fucking asshole," Dean breathes, almost close enough to be another kiss. "What the _hell_ did you think you were doing back there?"

"What? Back at the corner market? I'm pretty sure that was me cleverly destroying a rakshasa and saving the day."

"You almost got me and that girl killed!" Dean yells, and he's so furious; both at Crowley for doing what he did, and himself for forgetting, even for a second, who and what Crowley was.

"You wouldn't have even _been_ in danger if you hadn't run in, guns blazing when I had the situation completely in control."

Dean's nails dig into the soft skin of Crowley's wrists, and he snarls. "Control? That's what you call it? You were going to sacrifice all those people!"

"They were five people. I considered them an acceptable loss, if it meant stopping that thing for good," Crowley says, calmly. Neutrally. As if what he's saying is _reasonable_. "And I considered them an acceptable loss if it kept _you_ out of harm's way. _They_ aren't necessary to stop the Apocalypse, but _you_ are." The demon shrugs, smiles invitingly as he looks Dean deep in the eyes. "Besides, I _like_ you."

And that is what Dean has a problem with; he can't deal with what Crowley is capable of doing if it means he survives. He can't deal knowing that Crowley would hurt, torture, kill, and damn any number of people, all for Dean's sake.

He closes his eyes, leans his forehead against Crowley's. "You're such a goddamn bastard," he says against the demon's lips.

"But that doesn't stop you from coming back to this, does it?" Crowley replies, sly and smug and smirking as he brushes sticky, blood-stained kisses against Dean's mouth and chin and cheek.

Dean says nothing, just grits his teeth, because it's true. One hundred fucking percent true. Crowley is, while currently on their side, a monster. And Dean sleeps with him anyway.

"What's the matter, lover? Cat got your tongue?" Crowley mocks, but (and this is what kills) Dean can still hear the faint note of concern hiding beneath the smiles.

Dean answers with another furious kiss, trying to not think at all as he slides a thigh up and between Crowley's, and he swallows the demon's frustrated moan as he stops short of Crowley's dick.

"You do realize I could break your hold any second, you fucking _tease_," Crowley hisses as Dean breaks the kiss.

"Yeah, but you won't," Dean says with a smirk.

"Not if you start doing something productive with your time in the next two minutes, no," Crowley replies with a smirk of his own.

Dean just chuckles in reply, as he crushes his body against Crowley's, grinds against him with a force that's nearly bruising.

Crowley moans, head falling back against the wall, and Dean feels a small self-loathing thrill at being the one forcing that kind of noise out of the demon's throat.

Then he bites down where Crowley's neck meets his shoulder, and that noise is _better_.

* * *

Concrits?


	2. Music of Dubious Quality

**Title:** Music of Dubious Quality**  
Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Crowley, Sam, Bobby  
**Warnings:** Spoilers for SPN 5x20  
**Word Count:** 847  
**Prompt:** cellphone ringtones  
**Summary:** In which Crowley keeps changing Deans cellphone ringtone, and Sam suspects shenanigans.

* * *

At first, Sam thinks it's a joke.

A particularly _evil_ joke, because Dean's reaction to his cellphone starting to play _t.A.T.u_ of all things is to answer the phone screaming, then proceed to be a goddamn jerk to pretty much _everyone_ for the rest of the day.

oOoOoOoOo

He's still pretty sure it's a joke, though a potentially lethal one, when Dean's phone starts singing "Ooooooh, you are my superstar..." in the middle of a hunt, bringing the wrath of a very hungry, very _old_ vampire down on their asses.

After the vampire is slain, Dean calls Crowley back up and calls him every word on the long list of insults that Dean knows. He's only slightly mollified by the fact that the information Crowley called to give them was actually quite important and very useful.

When they get back to the motel, Dean spends the rest of the night being a drunk, moody mess.

Sam silently thinks he's overreacting.

oOoOoOoOo

By the time Cas comes to him a few weeks later, clearly unsettled, and tells him that Dean's phone is saying that when it thinks about him, it touches itself, Sam is starting to suspect that there's more going on than just Crowley being annoying.

He gets even more certain when he asks Dean about it, and his brother gets that panicked "oh shit, I don't know how to explain this without there being screaming involved" look on his face.

Sam gracefully lets it slide though, changes the topic, and decides that he's going to have to observe for a bit longer before jumping to outrageous conclusions.

oOoOoOoOo

When Dean's phone starts playing Paris Hilton a few days later, Sam is watching Dean like a hawk.

And what he sees freaks him out just a little. Because Dean is actually _smiling_.

It's slight, and doesn't stop him frowning and answering Crowley with a few choice insults, but it's _there_. Dean is smiling because Crowley is messing with his cellphone and making it play truly horrific lovesongs whenever Crowley calls.

The implications are somewhat terrifying.

oOoOoOoOo

Once Dean's phone has moved on to Lady Gaga, and Dean actually _chuckles_ before picking up, Sam thinks it's time to talk to Bobby.

"I think Dean is sleeping with Crowley."

Bobby chokes on his beer. "_What?_"

"You didn't hear it wrong," Sam says, taking a sip from his own beer.

"Why do you think they might be..." Bobby waves his hand awkwardly.

"Crowley keeps changing Dean's ringtone. To lovesongs. And Dean finds it _funny_. Bobby, if anyone else had ever done that, Dean would have _hit_ them."

They're silent for a long time after that, minds wrapping around the idea.

"Well..." Bobby says finally. "Dean has been acting happier the last few weeks. And _Crowley_... He's not a bad guy, for a demon. And he does seem pretty intent on seeing all this through without anyone dying."

And that's entirely true. Dean _has_ seemed more like his old self, and Crowley _had_ been incredibly helpful, even moving to take a bullet for newly human Cas at one point.

So it's not necessarily a bad thing.

It's just really _weird_.

oOoOoOoOo

A couple of nights later, they're in a motel, almost sleeping, and Dean's phone starts singing about wanting to play with fire.

Dean snorts as he gets out of bed and grabs the phone. "I'll take this outside," he says, pulling on a pair of jeans and his jacket before leaving the room.

Sam waits for a minute before getting up, and as quietly as possible sliding the door open.

Outside, Dean and Crowley are in the parking lot, leaning against the Impala, and obviously having drinks.

"So Bobby decided to give me The Talk, yesterday," Sam can hear Crowley say.

Dean snorts. "You _absolutely_ didn't need that."

Crowley rolls his eyes. "Don't be a moron. I mean the _other_ one. The 'hurt him and I'll give you a holy water bath for the rest of your pitiful existence' one," he replies, sipping whatever it is he's brought with him. "He was quite intimidating."

"Bobby knows?"

"Obviously. Can't say that I'm terribly surprised; I've had to be _distressingly_ obvious in this courtship, or you'd _never_ have caught on."

"If Bobby knows, Sam knows," Dean says, ignoring Crowley's insult.

Crowley pauses. "And is that a problem?" he asks, and Sam is startled to realize that Crowley's actually _worried_ that it might be.

"No, I don't think so. He hasn't blown up at me yet, so I figure we're good."

"Well, that's a relief, I suppose."

"Mm," Dean agrees, taking a sip of his drink.

"So, do you need your beauty sleep, or do you have time for a quick shag in the back of the car?" Crowley asks, smirking.

Dean laughs, and sounds happy and pleased in a way Sam can't remember hearing for a long time. "I'll make time," he replies, grabbing Crowley's tie and dragging him closer.

Sam closes the door before he can see anything more. He _really_ doesn't need to know.

* * *

I do very much love concrit? Also, for those who are for whatever reason interested, the songlist goes as such:

1.) t.A.T.u - All About Us

2.) Rollergirl - Superstar

3.) Genitorturers - Touch Myself

4.) Paris Hilton - Stars Are Blind

5.) Lady Gaga - Bad Romance

6.) Paulina Rubio - Fire (Sexy Dance)


	3. Easy

**Title:** Easy**  
Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Crowley  
**Warnings:** Spoilers for SPN 5x21  
**Word Count:** 529  
**Prompt:** It wasn't supposed to feel like this. For either of them.  
**Summary:** In which Dean frets over his... whatever it is... with Crowley.

* * *

It should have been more difficult, is all Dean's saying. It should _be_ more difficult. Maybe even _impossible_, if he has to be entirely honest.

Seriously, just look at who he is. Look at who - and _what_ - Crowley is. This thing should by all rights be messy and nasty and generally unhealthy. For _both_ of them.

So yeah, what he's saying is that this... _whatever_ between them shouldn't come as naturally as it does. It shouldn't be this _easy_.

But it does. And it is.

Catching a glimpse of a bored Crowley in the rearview mirror of the Impala becomes something he expects. Sliding his plate closer to the demon when he starts stealing Dean's fries becomes something he does without thinking. He starts finding Crowley's nasty sense of humor funny, and even laughs at one of two of his nicknames for Sam. He begins to trust that Crowley will have his back during hunts.

He gets used to Crowley being in his space, and to casual touches, and to leaning _into_ casual touches, and to pushing Crowley up against the Impala so that he can kiss that smirk right off his smug face.

It's almost _frighteningly_ easy, this whole falling in love deal, and sometimes - when he's not distracted by how _nice_ it is - Dean'll panic about it, just a little. Then he'll take a deep breath and shrug it off, because compared to the apocalypse and, hell, his entire _life_, this shouldn't really be such a big deal.

Besides, he's obviously not the only one who gets occasional panic attacks over the whole weird situation; sometimes Crowley will do this thing where he goes very still, blinks, then looks either at Dean or his own reflection like he can't really believe what he's seeing. The whole thing only takes about a second usually, but it's considerably slowed down when he's just waking up, and considering that Dean's taken to waking up disgustingly early to fret over his emotional life like some _girl_, he's had plenty opportunity to observe it. Like now, for example.

Crowley sighs lightly as he wakes up, eyes fluttering open and flicking first to the door, then to Dean. Then he goes still. Blinks. And then he just looks very confused.

"I know," Dean says. "It's weird."

Crowley's confusion fades into amusement, and he chuckles as he closes his eyes again. "Just a tad, yes," he agrees.

Dean takes another moment to just watch Crowley smiling in a way that is actually neither smug _nor_ nasty (and _no_, that _isn't_ girly, so shut up), then he hoists himself up and gets out of bed. "Anyway, I'm going to go get breakfast. Do you want anything else besides coffee?"

"No, just the coffee," Crowley mumbles sleepily. "Two cups."

"All right, I'll be back in ten."

"I won't go anywhere," Crowley calls out as Dean gets out the door, but Dean can still hear his final mumblings before the door slides shut. "Oh thank _God_. For a moment there, I thought he was going to have us talk about our _feelings_."

Dean just laughs into the cool morning air.

* * *

The Ravenspear loves her some concrit?


	4. Eight Alternate Universes

**Title:** Eight Alternate Universes**  
Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Crowley  
**Warnings:** A moderate amount of crack?  
**Word Count:** 882**  
Summary:** In which there are AU-y shenanigans.

* * *

**wild west**  
"I come bearing gifts from England," Crowley says as he appears next to Dean's bedroll, dropping a heavy leather packet on the hunter's chest. He sniffs disdainfully at Dean's campsite. "God, Winchester. Can't you start renting rooms like normal folk?"

"Shut yer mouth," Dean grumbles as he sits up, and Crowley grimaces at the fact that he wears longjohns. "What's it is?" he continues as he picks up Crowley's package.

"A gun," Crowley replies as the hunter unwraps the soft leather. "A very _special_ gun," he adds. "And some very special bullets."

Dean inspects the weapon. "Fine craftsmanship. Well-balanced. But what's so special about it?"

"The man who made it - a fellow named Colt, I do believe - made it to kill anything."

Dean looks up at him. "Anything?"

Crowley's smile is nearly feral. "_Anything_."

0

**cyberpunk**  
"Charming place you have here," Crowley says, looking around Dean's run-down apartment. "Very destitute chic."

"You didn't need to come here," Dean points out, tapping away at the netscreen as he tries to ignore the rising irritation that Crowley's presence causes.

"Of course I did," Crowley says, suddenly unsettlingly close, and Dean can't help twitching just a little bit. "Not like I can trust you not to lead my old employers to my safehouse," he continues as he peers at the screen. "Your code is sloppy."

Dean grits his teeth. He hates androids, and he hates corporate douchebags, and Crowley is _both_, wrapped in a supremely obnoxious package. "You want to write it instead?"

"Oh, goodness no," Crowley replies as he straightens up. "I wouldn't want to connect my delicate circuitry to this..." he gestures to Dean's setup, "..._thing_. Who _knows_ what I may catch. And writing code _by hand_?" He grimaces. "That's just _barbaric_."

"Then shut up and let me work," Dean snarls.

"Oooh, touchy," Crowley mutters, rolling his eyes. "A bit tense, are we?" And suddenly he's so very close again. "I could fix that, you know. Fully... functional and all that," he says, voice dropped teasingly low.

When Dean tries to hit him with his coffee cup, the bastard just laughs.

0

**pirates**  
"Not exactly an ordinary barrister are you?" the captain asks.

The man who had introduced himself as Anthony Crowley smirks as he wipes the blood off his stiletto with a handkerchief. "Well, that's just absurd, Captain Winchester. Every barrister knows the value of a good defense."

0

**...in SPACE!**  
Krauw-Li wasn't, as a general rule, attracted to humans. They tended to be too soft and fragile and defenseless; not at all like his own people. But he had been stuck on this deserted space rock with no one for company but Lieutenant Dean Winchester for almost sixteen lunar cycles, and Helans were a very sexual species.

He was sure the Ancestors would understand.

0

**born another gender**  
"I am going to _kill_ you," Crowley grits out, nearly crushing Dean's fingers in her dainty little hand. "You are entirely to blame for this."

"It tends to take two, you know," the nurse mutters, and Dean's fingers wishes she hadn't.

"Who asked you?" Crowley hisses, and Dean is a bit concerned with how her eyes flash black. "If you aren't expressing the opinion that I need more anesthetics, I don't care about anything you have to say. Actually, unless you have painkillers, I want you the hell out of my room!"

"Maybe you should leave?" Dean suggests to the nurse, as nicely has he can muster at the moment, and thankfully, she does.

"_All_ your fault," Crowley groans. "You and your _stupid_ post-Apocalypse party, and Bobby's _stupid_ margaritas."

"Don't forget Castiel's bottles of Everclear."

"Fucking angel," Crowley agrees.

0

**schoolfic**  
"Oh my god, did you guys _see_ the way Coach Winchester looked at Mister Crowley today over lunch?"

"I _know_, right? And did you notice when Mister Crowley was leaving, he put his hand on Coach Winchester's shoulder like this."

"God, I didn't notice that? Really?"

"Totally!"

"Oh Jesus Christ... Can't you two shut up about this? Mister Crowley and Coach Winchester are _not_ having some secret romance; it's all in your heads."

"What_ever_. They're _totally_ doing it. You just don't notice, because you're a _guy_."

0

**police/firefighters**  
"Anthony Crowley, Interpol."

"Dean Winchester, FBI. So the brass tells me you're here to take over my case."

"Well, I was considering it. But I read up on you, agent Winchester. Quite the impressive resume; I'd be a fool not to take... proper advantage of your skills."

"As long as you don't expect me to put out on the first date."

"Oh, I'd never. I'm a _perfect_ gentleman. So what do you say we discuss this 'Bela Talbot' character over a cup of awful office coffee?"

"Sure, I'm game."

0

**urban fantasy**  
"These books are _terrible_," Crowley says, flipping through a copy of _Highway 666_ as he lounges on Dean's motel bed. "How on God's green earth did they _ever_ get this popular?"

"The homosexual subtext, if I understand Becky right," Dean grumbles from beside him, voice muffled by the pillow he's buried his head in.

"Well, there _is_ that," Crowley says pensively. "You and Sam really come off much more incestuous in print than in real life."

"Gee, thanks."

"But really, this is some of the worst stuff in the genre. I'm... really quite shocked and appalled that I'll eventually be written into this tripe."

"Welcome to my world."


	5. Is Not

**Title:** Is Not**  
Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Crowley  
**Warnings:** Mild spoilers for the finale?  
**Word Count:** 218  
**Prompt: **He's not Castiel, but he's still something.**  
Summary:** In which Crowley is a pretty bad best friend.

* * *

As far as best friend replacements go, Crowley is probably one of the worst ones ever.

He's nasty, vicious, and smug. He laughs at Dean when he's hurt, mocks his guilt over leaving Lisa and Ben behind, and smirking calls him a martyr.

He criticizes Dean's choice of music, clothes, food, and liqueur.

He picks fights in bars simply for the pleasure of breaking someone's arm, and usually manages to take his opponent's girlfriend back with him to his hotel room.

He drinks fancy, ridiculously expensive scotch, and smokes cigars in the Impala even when Dean has threatened to shoot him.

He's always too close, too familiar; all casual touches and radiated heat that drives Dean to distraction.

And at night he'll shove Dean up against the Impala or a motel wall, or down on a bed or a floor or just the _ground_, and kiss him like they're fighting. Which then leads to them _fucking_ like they're fighting.

Yeah, Crowley is pretty much the very _opposite_ of a best friend. Of _Castiel_.

But that's _okay_. Because for all that he's everything that could possibly be bad for Dean to have around, he's _there_. He's in the passenger seat of the Impala, every goddamn day without fail.

And in the end, that's the only thing that really matters.**  
**


	6. Blackmail as Foreplay

**Title:** Blackmail as Foreplay**  
****Characters/Pairings:** Crowley/Dean**  
Warnings: **Spoilers for 6x08. Consent of a very dubious nature heavily implied.  
**Word Count:** 680  
**Summary:** In which Dean tries to break it off, but Crowley has other plans.

* * *

Punching Crowley's face feels like punching a bag full of cold iron shot, and Dean's hand right hand makes a nasty crunching sound, but that doesn't stop Dean from delivering a second fist into the demon's soft belly.

Crowley, the fucking bastard, just laughs as he rubs at his chin. "A tad upset, are we, darling?"

"_You fucking asshole_," Dean hisses, cradling his broken right hand and wishing that he could punch that smug grin right off Crowley's fucking face without his left hand meeting the same fate.

"What?" Crowley asks, settling down on the motel room couch. "Why all this sudden hostility? Why, I seem to remember that just the week before last, you were asking me to, what was it? Oh right, 'fuck me harder'?"

And yeah, Dean _had_. Because two weeks ago, Crowley had been a demonic asshole, but he'd still been a demonic asshole that had taken Dean's side when that kind of ally was in short fucking demand (and a demonic asshole who made Dean _feel_ in a way he hadn't since before Hell).

But now... Now Crowley is the demonic asshole who's screwed him and his entire family for fun and profit.

So _no_, there will be no fucking "sorry, I can't stay long, have to get back to rule the hordes of Hell and continue to destroy your life, so would you please get on the bed now?" booty call.

"You can fuck off right back to Hell," Dean spits, moving into the bathroom to get the first aid kit, and maybe to run some cold water over the swelling before it gets too bad. "Get some fucking demon bitch to spread her legs for you." Dean stands at the sink, watching the water wash away the blood from his split knuckles, and after a minute he thinks that Crowley actually _has_.

But then there is a body behind him, pressing against him hard, and trapping him against white ceramic as Crowley's hands come to rest possessively at his hips. "But _Dean_," he whispers, voice low, and his breath hot against Dean's neck. "_You're_ the one I _want_. No one could ever compare to _you_."

"I said fuck off!" Dean's voice sounds too loud (too _hurt_) against tile walls, and the fact that his hand is suddenly fine, right as fucking _rain_, only pisses him off more as he spins around to face Crowley. "Get the hell away from me."

"What? Does our current business arrangement hurt your _feelings_?" Crowley asks, smirking as his hands resettle on Dean's hips. "Were you expecting _better_ from me, perhaps?"

And that stings, because yeah, he _had_. He'd made the same fucking mistake that Sam'd made with Ruby; thinking demons could actually be _decent_, even if they weren't _good_. "Get out," is all he says. "This - _whatever_ the fuck this is - is _over_. Just get out."

"No, I don't think I _will_," Crowley responds, fingers tapping out a rhythm against Dean's jeans. "Because regardless of how _you_ feel about _me_, _I_ still like _you_. And I don't give up on things I like."

Dean finds himself laughing, and it's sharp and ugly and pained. "So what? You're going to stoop to rape now, too? Not that I'm surprised; after all, I've already seen everything you demons have to offer."

Crowley grimaces in disgust, but he doesn't step away, stays a solid, warm presence against Dean's front. "Oh, goodness no. I resent the very _implication_," he says. "I'd much prefer you willing."

Dean crushes the urge to sigh in relief, will not let Crowley have that weakness. "Then someone's not getting lucky tonight," he says, leaning in towards Crowley's face, lips threatening to twist into a snarl as he bites out the words.

Crowley's smirk turns into something much more delighted and dark. "And what if I could _make_ you willing?"

"You could fucking try," Dean scoffs.

And Crowley smirks as he leans in the inches left between them, until their lips barely brush, and his next words are almost a kiss. "I _own_ your _brother_."


	7. Kiss Kiss

**Title:** Kiss Kiss**  
****Characters/Pairings:** Crowley/Dean**  
Warnings: **Sexytimes?  
**Word Count:** 529  
**Prompt:** hungry for you  
**Summary:** In which Dean kisses Crowley for the first time.

* * *

"Oh, Dean," Crowley murmurs, smirking as Dean shoves him into the wall hard and holds him there, hands fisted in the expensive fabric of the demon's jacket. "I love it when you're so forceful. Makes my heart go all a-flutter."

"Shut up," Dean growls, stepping in so he's pressed close against Crowley's body, crushing the demon against the wall. "I fucking hate it when you talk."

"Oh, do I make it hard for you to pretend that the man you can't help but keep fucking isn't actually a demon?" Crowley asks, mocking laughter teasing at the edges of his voice. "_Ever_ so sorry, darling."

"_I hate you_," Dean bites out, bears down even more heavily on the demon, grinds against him, both loving and hating the thrill of arousal he feels as Crowley spreads his legs, making it easier for Dean to slide a leg in between them, to thrust his cock harshly against Crowley's hip.

"Oh, you and your sweet talk," Crowley laughs, voice breathy and lustful, and Dean can feel Crowley's dick growing hard against his thigh. "Come on, Winchester. Admit you love this. Admit that every night you lie awake, _hungry_ for this."

And Dean fucking _won't_, not even if (_especially_ not if) it might be true.

Dean fucking won't, but he can't stand any more of Crowley's mockery either, so he does the only thing he fucking can about it, and kisses him. It's not something he's done before, too uncomfortable with the associations of Crowley and kissing, but right now he's too fucking angry and desperate to pay it any mind, and Crowley's lips are soft under the bruising force of Dean's mouth on his.

At first, Crowley doesn't respond, eyes widening fractionally in shock, and Dean feels a stab of pride at being able to wipe that smug look off his face. It only lasts a second, though, and then Crowley's mouth falls open under the press of Dean's lips, and his tongue is scalding hot and greedy as he licks into Dean's mouth, humming delightedly as he pushes in, kisses Dean like he _owns_ him.

Dean frowns into the kiss, sparks of anger up his spine at the _possessiveness_, and he pulls back to bite down on Crowley's bottom lip, hard enough to make him bleed, and the groan the demon makes goes straight to Dean's cock. He's still pissed off when all the bite has seemed to do is just to make Crowley all the more intent, but it's easy to be distracted when Crowley kisses him deep with a mouth that's sticky and sweet with blood, and slides a hand down to teasingly unzip his jeans and slip inside to stroke at him. 

Afterwards, when it's all over, and Dean is leaning, spent, with his head resting on Crowley's shoulder as he gasps for breath, Crowley is going to laugh softly. "Fine," he'll say, voice heavy with affection that doesn't ring false or ironic (_and god, how that frightens Dean sometimes_). "Don't admit it if you don't want to," he'll continue, hand gentle as he strokes Dean's hair. "I don't really need you to tell me something I already know."


	8. Life With Edith

**Title:** Life With Edith**  
****Characters/Pairings:** Crowley/Dean, Sam, a hellhound named Edith**  
Warnings: **Spoilers up to ep 6x08  
**Word Count:** 1827  
**Prompt:** Dean is understandably uncomfortable around the Hellhound, but she's taken quite a liking to him  
**Summary:** In which Crowley lends his hellhound to Dean.

* * *

They bag Crowley the Changeling Alpha. In return, the demon surprisingly enough does as he promised, and gives Sam's soul back.

More surprisingly, a couple of hours later he shows up again and hands Dean a rose. "Well, holding your brother hostage was obviously not a very good attempt at seduction," Crowley says. "I sometimes forget that humans aren't demons. Or at least not yet."

"...What?" Sam manages. Dean just chokes a little.

"Well, I'll strive to do better in the future."

"No, seriously, _what?"_ Dean says, still choking a bit on the words.

"I'm courting you. _Obviously_," Crowley says, giving him a 'oh god, are you really _this_ dumb?' look. "Anyway, I need to be off," he continues as he checks his watch. "The hordes of Hell won't rule themselves, and all that. And I'm leaving Edith to keep you safe; goodness knows that now that the moose has his soul back, he won't be _half_ as effective at protecting you."

"Who the fuck-" Dean starts, but Crowley is already gone. "-is Edith?" he finishes in a frustrated growl.

Somewhere to his right, there is a yip. A uncomfortably vicious-sounding yip.

"Oh Hell no," Dean breathes, taking a few panicked steps backwards and falling across the bed, as Sam dives for their duffel of guns.

The hellhound barks, and Dean can hear it move closer, and he closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable pain.

What he gets is a dog's snout sniffing his crotch. He lets out a very undignified shout as he scrambles backwards on the bed, ending in a very undignified yelp as he falls over the side and hits himself on the floor.

The hellhound lets out a bark that sounds suspiciously like laughter, but it turns into a growl quickly as Sam levels a shotgun on it.

"Um, relax, Sam," Dean says, cringing as he tries to get up from where he fell. "I... I don't think it's out to kill us."

He can't see it, but he can imagine Sam's irritated frown as he lowers the gun slowly. "All right," Sam says, and yeah, definitely irritated frown, judging from the current bitchiness in his voice.

"So, Edith," Dean says as he gets up to his knees on his side of the bed. "You _aren't_ going to kill us, right?"

The hellhound barks, and a repetitive thudding starts up. It takes him a few seconds to realize she's _wagging her tail_.

"Awesome," Dean sighs, relief making him sag a bit. "So no biting or shredding or anything, right?"

She barks again, closer to Dean's face this time, and before he has the time to pull his head back in fear, he has the dubious honor of being the recipient of a wet, smelly hellhound doggy-kiss.

Dean makes a strangled, disgusted sound, and tries very hard not to throw up.

"What did it do?" Sam asks frantically, raising the shotgun again and getting a growl for his troubles.

"It _licked_ my _face_," Dean answers, trying to wipe the hellhound slobber off his face with his t-shirt. "God, this shit is _noxious_."

"It... It licked your face," Sam says, and Dean can hear the laughter teasing at the edges of the words. "Awww, Dean has made a new friend!"

"Bitch," Dean mutters, before he hears Sam making a high-pitched surprised noise, then a crash.

Dean's head snaps around to see Sam on the floor, behind the toppled over motel room table. "What happened?"

"It stuck its nose in my crotch!" Sam shouts, scrambling into a more defensible position.

Dean just laughs, the feeling of having been avenged overshadowing the unease of being in the same room as a hellhound. "Good girl."

Edith yips happily.

ooo

It takes four days for Crowley to show back up. Four days of what Sam sarcastically calls "hellhound shenanigans," and four nights of drawing salt lines around their beds because Edith refuses to sleep outside, and Dean is too uncomfortable around her to let her have unimpeded access to his sleeping body.

Edith is a menace. She doesn't believe in Dean's right to privacy; where he goes, she goes, even if that place happens to be the shower. She believes it is her right and duty to clean Sam's hair. Her favorite hobby seems to be scaring kids, or possibly chasing them. She treats other people's cars as chew toys (though she leaves the Impala alone, for which Dean feels the need to pat her head). She almost eviscerated a woman who tried to come on to Dean in a bar. She ate their motel clerk (but it turned out he was as vampire, so that was kind of okay).

They're coming back from a hunt (monster in a lake, and apparently hellhounds love water) when Edith spots Crowley in the motel parking lot, and she yips and wags her tail like crazy until Dean can finally open the door to the backseat so she can launch herself at her master.

"Oh, have you missed daddy, pet? Daddy has missed you, too," Crowley coos as Edith jumps and runs circles around him and slobbers all over his suit.

"Most disturbing thing ever," Sam states, and Dean agrees.

"I took the liberty of getting dinner," Crowley says, scratching Edith behind the ears as her tail stirs up a small dustcloud from the ground. "It's inside."

"You got us dinner?" Sam asks incredulously.

Crowley frowns. "I haven't dated since the thirties, but that _is_ still the convention, isn't it? You buy your intended dinner, and if you're lucky, they will be open to further courting?"

Sam opens his mouth, closes it, then turns right around and goes inside.

"You are _not_ courting me," Dean says.

"Well, that's hardly your choice," Crowley says as he sits down on a bench, Edith following and laying her head in his lap for petting. "You may reject my advances all you like, but you can't stop me from making them."

Dean thinks about arguing, but just goes inside.

The next morning, Crowley is gone, but Edith is waiting outside the door with a bag of takeout from a coffeshop in New York.

ooo

Edith is a menace, but she gets easier to live with over time, especially once she learns that Dean _really_ needs his personal space sometimes. And that neither children nor girls who show interest in Dean is food.

Sam's hair and other people's cars are still in the danger zone, but Dean supposes she can have at least those small joys.

And the way she takes down monsters... Well, there's nothing wrong with that _at all_.

Crowley shows up at regular intervals to cuddle with Edith, and to continue his courtship of Dean.

It's disturbing, but at least he seems to be going for the gentlemanly route, and Dean doesn't have to worry about being groped or molested.

(Sam finds the entire situation kind of hilarious.)

ooo

One night, Dean wakes up to Edith whining pathetically as she walks back and forth along the salt line Sam had laid down when they went to bed, the same lonely noise she sometimes does just after Crowley leaves.

She keeps it up for an hour before flopping down on the floor as close as she can to Dean's bed, still whining.

"Give it up, it's not happening," Dean says firmly, stomps down on the sympathy welling in his chest, then turns around and tries to fall asleep.

He wakes up again a while later as a giant weight settles over his feet. "Jesus fuck!"

Sam wakes up instantly, and flips the light switch at the same time as he pulls his knife from under his pillow. "Dean?"

Dean can see that the salt line at the side of his bed has been broken, salt scattered as if it had been blown away, and from the foot of Dean's bed, Edith whines softly.

Dean sighs, considers his options. "It's nothing, Sammy," he grumbles. "Just the dog. Go back to sleep."

ooo

Edith gets hurt saving their lives.

Sam and Dean has already killed one, and is going to call it a day, not realizing that whatever it is that is making all the monsters go insane has turned the previously solitary wendigo into a pack creature.

Then there's a rustle among the trees, a scuffle as the thing attacks, and Edith _screams_ but still keeps her jaws firmly locked around the caught wendigo's torso.

They kill the thing, then tries to dress as many of Edith's wounds as they can with the supplies at hand before they help her limp back to the Impala.

Crowley finds them hours later in the motel room, Edith covered in new bandages, sleeping soundly with her head in Dean's lap as he leans against the side of his bed, scratching behind her ears.

The demon hisses as he gets to his knees next to her. "What happened?" he asks.

"Shh, keep it down," Dean whispers. "If you wake up Sam, he'll fuss and wake up Edith, and then no one will sleep for another five hours."

"All right," Crowley whispers, lips quirking in annoyance. "What happened?"

"She saved us from a Wendigo. We didn't know they hunted in packs these days, so we weren't very careful once we'd ganked one. She's fine, though. The bleeding's stopped, her heartbeat is good, her breathing is good, and she managed to scarf down half a cow after Sam went shopping for her, so she obviously isn't in too much pain."

"Good," Crowley says quietly as he strokes Edith's flank carefully, and Dean's sure he can see deep red sparks flaring where the demon touches the hellhound. "Thank you, Dean," he says after a while, looking up. "I know you generally aren't too fond of hellhounds."

"What can I say? She grows on you," Dean replies, shrugging. "And she _did_ save our lives."

"Yeah, she's a good girl," Crowley murmurs fondly, still petting Edith softly.

Dean falls asleep like that, hellhound sleeping in his lap, and a demon right next to him, and just before he goes under, he wonders what happened to his life.

ooo

Dean wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck, and his lap cold where Edith isn't anymore.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Crowley greets, holding out a cup of coffee to him.

"Gimme," Dean slurs, exhaustion still clinging to his mind.

"Ah, ah!" Crowley says, smirking. "Say please?"

"Fuck you," Dean grumbles.

Crowley looks considering. "I suppose that works, too," he says, and _whoa_ why the fuck does he suddenly have a lapful of demon?

"What the shit?"

"What? It was _your_ idea," Crowley says, sipping the coffee.

Dean wants to argue, he really does, but he's so tired, and there is coffee right in front of him. "Fine, whatever. One date, but give me that coffee, right fucking now. And don't expect me to put out."

Crowley smirks. "Deal," he says, and his mouth tastes like coffee.


End file.
